


End Quote

by nylie



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Slow Build, exes in love, ikejiri centric at first?, sort of, suga and asahi make appearences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 13:37:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4350818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nylie/pseuds/nylie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Win. Then win some more. Win for us, too.” “Yeah. You got it.”</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Winning and losing are not easy things. Parting ways, finding each other again, from friends to strangers to... Ikejiri leaves InterHigh Day 1 with his eyes red and sore, and a promise from an old friend. Ikejiri comes back on Day 2 to watch Karasuno's game against Aobajousai and deals with loss and hope on the next few days.</p><p>(Or, Ikejiri <i>still</i> has it bad for Daichi, even if he doesn't know it).</p>
            </blockquote>





	End Quote

**Author's Note:**

> OK, here is the thing: IM PERSONALLY OFFENDED THAT THERE AREN'T FICS ABOUT THESE TWO. And, therefore, took it upon myself to actually invest myself into writing fic in English. I was not expecting a little drabble to turn into this monster, but, here it is. Because we all know you needed this in your life (?)  
> (What can I say? I will not stop until this pairing gets the love they deserve ?).
> 
> I'm very happy with the result in any case, and I hope you like it :D
> 
> I want to thank @monsterr/nezushiion for beta editing this monster, even if I was just a random stranger with a very rarepairing, and my darling @frozenyogurt, who was with me during all the process and then had to endure reading it twice again~ THANK YOU BOTH. (Any remaining mistakes are all mine, and please, do point them out; same goes from wrong or badly used data, as this is my first time in the anime world and I'm still getting familiar with a lot of things). 
> 
> note: I have yet to read the manga, so, this only takes consideration of the events in the anime.  
> (also, deeply sorry about using a Michimiya/Daichi quote for the title, but the parallelism between Michimiya & Ikejiri made it the perfect choice!)

****

 

 ** Interhigh.  ** Day One **.**

_“Win. Then win some more. Win for us, too.”_

_“Yeah. You got it.”_

 

 

 

 

 

 ** Interhigh.  ** Day Two **.**

Ikejiri enters the Sendai City gymnasium stands earlier than expected of, _well_ , almost everybody. None of the teams are there yet. There’s only a soft murmur of voices of other first comers, walking around looking for seats, yawning their way through the early morning. He walks with his hands in his pockets, eyes cast down, following the movement of his feet. He is not expecting to meet anyone here today, but he’d rather not risk it. It’s silly. He could explain his actions with simple words: he enjoys the game in and out of the court. _Yet_. He can’t lie to himself about his reasons for being here; but he is sure to trip upon his own words if he has to lie to somebody else.

 

He locates the court that will hold the game that brought him here and takes a sit on the stands. He jerks his legs up, holding onto his knees for dear life and hiding his face between them. He feels his eyes sting with tears from the previous day; they’re still dancing behind his eyelids, teasing him with perpetual sorrow. It’s ridiculous, he thinks—but crashed hopes are a hard thing to put together again. Twenty-four hours have not yet separated him from the loss; he will not apologize to himself about his weakness in such short period of time. He does play with the regret of coming back today, wound too fresh and the gymnasium too large to contain it. But he is here now, and that’s all that there is to it.

 

None of his teammates will come today, he is sure of it. They have no reason to put themselves through the misery of revival, and they are sure to take the day off to rest. They need today to lift up their spirits and remember why they are playing volleyball to begin with. He wonders, hiccupping into his knees, if any of them will show up tomorrow. He remembers Shibuya murmuring something like ‘ _what’s the point?_ ’ on the trip back to school yesterday. He feels himself become angry at the thought, hands clenching in his pants until his knuckles turn white.

 

His breathing starts to calm as the voices around him start to grow. He is not here to make penance or torture himself, he kindly reminds himself, looking up just a bit, face numb and eyes sore. The place is still pretty much empty; only one of the competing teams is on the gymnasium. There’s no sight of Karasuno’s team yet, or of their opponent. Ikejiri thanks the fact that people seem to wonder off to other sides of the stands, rather than stick close to where he sits. He blindly stares at the court while voices come and go for what seems like ages.

 

Ikejiri feels a smile tugging on the corners of his lips when he spots a girl—he recognizes her as Karasuno’s manager—tucking a banner on the rails on the opposite side of the court. _Fly_ , it reads. Ikejiri nods to himself, lifting his face more but never letting his legs away from his chest. He scans the court and the doors of the gymnasium, feeling unease, until he spots the team in question walking through it. The little number ten from yesterday is the first one to step inside, face glowing even from the distance. Ikejiri thinks of himself on the first day of school, running into the gymnasium of Junior High, full of hopes and dreams and— _he wants to be down on the court so badly._ He feels his smile faltering. However, it never gets to leave his mouth as his eyes follow the rest of the team until they land on the captain.

 

Sawamura’s presence is, without a doubt, a force to be reckoned with. Ikejiri knows now—experience tends to work that way—that, _technically_ , the whole team of Karasuno High School is a force to be reckoned with. He is not naïve enough to plant that drive only on Sawamura Daichi’s shoulders. If anything, it’s the strength of the attackers and the sum of its extremely talented individuals what makes the team such an incredible display of power. And yet, he is drawn to Sawamura’s aura in particular. The captain is an anchor of confidence and leadership, keeping the bouncy and restless team of Karasuno in check, ordering and calming their nerves just by his presence. Or maybe, he is just projecting himself onto them. As his own hands unclench from where they are gripping at his clothes, he feels a sigh escape his lips and his legs slide down until his feet are back on the floor. He leans forward, elbows on knees, and squints at the team. But —he hasn’t lied to himself yet, and he won’t start now— his attention is focused on Sawamura’s dynamics with the rest of them.

 

He follows Karasuno with his gaze as they settle on the other side of the court and start warming up in preparation. Aobajousai hasn’t arrived yet, but their fans start to gather down in the stands where Ikejiri is sitting, their voices loud and confident. He wonders for a moment if he should walk over to the opposite stands, but his eyes remain compelled to watch the court as long as he can. Karasuno moves bright and fast in their preparation. They do not seem that powerful, or as scary as he remembers them from his own match. He wonders for a moment if he and his team were just that bad; they probably were, but no, it’s not that. Karasuno might be messy and not perfect, but there’s something that settles in the pit of his stomach as he studies them. They are unwavering. Wishes and desires won’t take you anywhere on their own, Ikejiri knows, but it latches onto every attempt and pushes through every obstacle stubbornly. There’s fight plastered all over their faces. With that thought digging into his mind, he notices his hands becoming sweaty and shaky in anticipation.

 

By the time Seijou’s team arrives and both schools take their places in the court, Ikejiri feels like screaming. He’s pretty sure he is reliving his own nerves from yesterday all over again; only now, he is cheering for the rival team. He hears Sawamura’s shouts muffled by the noise surrounding the gymnasium, but he can see the other five players settling, focused and determined, on the other side of the net. Seijou’s cheering crowd on the stands is overwhelming and overpowering; it doesn’t take much to see they are favorites in every sense.

 

Ikejiri closes his eyes as the whistle announces the start of the game, and only opens them up as the first hand hits the ball.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ikejiri has a brief moment to wonder if nervous habits are something you keep developing in your life, as he bites his nails until they hurt. He’s been on the edge of his seat for almost the entire duration of the damn game, and his hands found their way to his mouth somewhere along the second set. And there they stayed. It’s difficult to describe what he is feeling at the moment: anxiousness, envy, desperation— _an incredible need to just puke all his breakfast over the empty seats in front_. He hasn’t felt this strong about a game that wasn’t his own, ever, he is certain. And he has experienced quite his share of games in his short life, both televised and live. But here he is, eyes following either the ball or Karasuno’s captain, and his stomach is itching in discomfort, voice screaming for the next point.

 

He has gotten a few rotten looks once in a while from the Seijou crowd in the front, when Karasuno gets to stop their cheering by scoring another point and his voice becomes strong enough to reach them. The first few glares he receives get him to lower his voice, ashamed, as if he got caught breaking some sort of rule he doesn’t know of. Ok, he might be wearing his school uniform —he should be in class, after all— and it definitely points out how his feverish support for Karasuno doesn’t come out of some sense of loyalty to his school. In all honesty, there is nothing to restrain him —he is not on the court, he has no need to remain calm— so he lets himself go free. The loss from yesterday is still raw in his veins and if he can enjoy —enjoy and suffer— this game, there shouldn’t be anything wrong with it. Ikejiri knows he is there because of loyalty anyway, even if it’s not one expected of him.

 

He trains his eyes to follow Sawamura as he moves on the court, paying particular attention at his turns to receive: the outstanding libero and Sawamura himself are taking command of Aobajousai’s setter’s perfect serves. Between all the nail biting and eyes hiding behind shaking hands, he makes himself admire the way both Karasuno members stand on the floor, grounding their movements. The back pillars of a team that just won’t give up.

 

By the time Karasuno goes into set point, Ikejiri wants to cry. He doesn’t, but he does hear himself scream when they take the set. He isn’t sure what he shouts about, if there are even words in his screech, but it burns in the back of his throat with excitement. Still, he is certain that beside his obvious bias in the game, he is definitely witnessing one of the most interesting matches of the whole Inter High. He promises himself to calm down for the third set, but his nails know otherwise.

 

The last set brings more people to the stands to watch Karasuno clash against Aobajousai; other games finished and the anxious shouts of the crowd in this section of the gymnasium drawing attention. This is volleyball, Ikejiri thinks, this is why he loves it so much, the way it draws you in and makes your insides clench in expectation. He takes his hands from his face enough to study both teams as they drown themselves in water, getting ready for the last set. Both teams look beyond exhausted, in one way or another, but they keep themselves focused, strong-minded, and optimistic.

 

Both teams are here to win. It’s exciting.

 

As the sets starts, his fingers go without thought to his mouth and he bites. He closes his eyes and sighs just before the last round. He stares at Sawamura for a while; his presence is still there, loud and echoing. Karasuno might shine thanks to the number ten and nine combo —the first time he sees the freak quick, he has to rub his eyes until they burn. Karasuno might have an all too overpowering ace and an incredibly talented libero too, but Ikejiri can see past the glittery force of their attacks and even the crumbling dependence of their receives.

 

He used to know Sawamura Daichi like the palm of his hand, and he can see him now: bouncing up, pushing forward and commanding his will into everyone else. He can testify from experience, Sawamura’s voice and advice of years before still firmly set in his mind, even if he was never able to follow him, to stand up to everything Sawamura meant to be. _We’ll never win if we don’t believe we can_. Sawamura Daichi believes he can, his team believes they can, and Ikejiri, sitting from the stands, doesn’t dare argue otherwise.

 

He bites his nails and shouts his breath out, hiding his face between his hands as the set progresses. It’s unnerving, and he finds himself in awe of everybody’s composure on the court. It’s easy to see the itchiness on the tip of their hands, or the trembles when it’s their time to serve, even the slightly off plays are there for all to see, and _yet_ —

 

Both teams keep bringing their A-game. Improving, even, to the point where Ikejiri doesn’t pay attention to his biting, or his nerves, or the way his elbows are deep into the bones of his legs. His attention, and that of the rest of the people in the stands, is no more than a breath away from stopping all together.

 

And then it goes into deuce. Ikejiri isn’t sure he can take it anymore. He focuses himself on Sawamura, as a way of anchoring himself to reality, but each play is long and dragging. Karasuno keeps the lead but the game won’t end, and Ikejiri knows this might cost them the further up they go. Aobajousai won’t give up either. It’s exhausting, he finds, and even though the cheering on the stands gets louder and stronger, he isn’t sure anybody knows what they are shouting anymore.

 

When it rounds thirty, he curses under his breath.

 

Cheering for the losing team is nothing like experiencing loss first hand, he is aware. But as the final spike crashes Karasuno’s plight for the Nationals, silence falls on everybody present. It is as overwhelming as the screams and the tension from the game, and Ikejiri covers his face with his hands, half crying into them. He has cried more in two days than during his entire time in High School, maybe more— no, he hasn’t cried this much since he acknowledged that he and Daichi were going separate ways. His heart crushes when he looks up, Karasuno lining up to the opposite stands. The sheer silence of the room only breaks from the clapping of both allies and foes alike. He joins them, burning his hands with friction, fully aware that no amount of recognition will change the fact that Karasuno is out of the courts.

 

He smiles, nevertheless, with pride washing over him irrationally. _It’s fine_ , he says to himself. _It’s fine_ , he repeats aloud, barely a whisper; somehow wishing his words would travel through space and reach Sawamura. He clenches his hands on his clothes until both teams are out, and new ones take their place, the Seijou cheering squad long gone and the atmosphere lulling back into calmness. Only then does he leave, hands in pockets, touching absently at the bitten tips of his fingers.

 

 

 

 

 

 ** Interhigh.  ** Day Three **.**

He is not sure how he finds himself in this situation. No, that’s a lie. He knows each step he took today. From the moment he woke up and went to morning classes, to the moment he stepped inside the school gymnasium to find only the team captain there. Tokonami might not be a powerhouse, but today it felt like dust in the wind. He knew he dragged himself through the day, mind lost in thoughts from the last two days, and he dragged himself into that court, expecting to find— no, he isn’t sure what he was expecting to find: a new porpoise, a last good-bye, _oh, the possibilities_. He _does_ know he wasn’t expecting to find emptiness and desertion. In the end, it’ll be the second-years responsibility to patch the group together and focus on the spring tournament. That he knows and yet... A bus ride, quite a walk up the hill, and some questioning looks later, he is here.

 

He sat himself against the far etch of the gymnasium when he arrived, back to the wall and knees to his chest. The incredible volume of voices inside had surprised him; Sawamura’s voice reached him as soon as he let himself slide down the wall. He couldn’t quite place whether he felt relieved or jealous. Komaki had let him go the moment it became obvious nobody else was coming. And here at Karasuno, all the team is back to practice, just the day after their loss, still fighting. He hides his face in his hands, wondering if he should just leave. What is he looking for here, anyway? He doesn’t know what brought him to Karasuno, other than a sense of need. It’s stupid and childish and he wasn’t even sure he’d find Sawamura at all. And it’s not as if they have kept in touch; they are not friends, or anything else for that matter, not anymore.

 

He stares at his hands for a while, feeling the phantom pressure from Sawamura’s fingers and can’t help the smile that wrestles its way onto his mouth. He wonders if he is looking for some kind of closure or a thread of hope and support and maybe…maybe he is too young to be this nostalgic about a friendship, but high school hasn’t been the best of experiences, and he is already here, so it won’t hurt to wait for a little while, _probably_. His thoughts won’t stop keeping him company and the sound of the ball in the gymnasium is as good as a replacement as any from the silence back home.

 

As it gets later, students start to leave the grounds of the school, staring at him as they pass by; probably wondering if they should ask him what he is doing there or if they should report him to some authority, but deciding against it. Ikejiri is grateful that Michimiya isn’t one of them. He remembers she came to Karasuno somewhere in between all his musings. And, _alright_ , he is ashamed he didn’t talk to her two days ago, even if his loss and his team leaving is a pretty damn good excuse. They used to be friends too. But he can’t face her now; she always had a way of making him nervous and he doesn’t know how he would explain what he is doing here as he isn’t exactly sure himself.

 

As the sounds of practice start to die out inside, his feet won’t stay still and he frets his hands, but he doesn’t move from where he is sitting, half in shadows, half in plain sight. He remains patient. It isn’t as if he can just knock on their door and ask for the captain, grab his hand and take him away. He lacks the courage. He never was brave enough. So he waits, half hoping nobody will notice when they leave, not even Daichi.

 

He hears them come out, stays stills and wonders for a moment if his half wish will become true as their voices —so light, and hopeful, and normal, and definitely not charged with the negative thoughts he’s been fighting for the past days—get lower, going in the opposite direction. He shakes his head to himself, the way out of the school is on this side and they are surely just heading to the club rooms he spotted in the back when he arrived.

 

So, he keeps waiting; he seems to be doing that a lot these days.

 

Eventually, their voices start to come back. He doesn’t recognize them, of course, but most of them seem to be together, yet segregated in little groups, with short distances between each of them. Ikejiri can’t see them until they start to pass him by. They do not notice him. They’re all too wrapped up in conversation, or their own things.

 

The first two that pass are the huge tall blond guy and that pitch server from yesterday; they are the only ones that walk in silence. He lets them go. The next group is larger and louder, just a few steps behind. He recognizes number ten, nine, the libero and the bald one, along with some others he doesn’t think played the previous days. As they pass, and the tiny redhead spins to shout at one of his teammates, Ikejiri is sure they’ll notice him. But neither the little guy, nor anybody else that turns to look at the bickering pair does. He sighs, whether from relief or disappointment, he doesn’t know. He isn’t sure he’ll be able to move himself at all, even when the time comes. He knows Sawamura must be next, and it doesn’t take more than a few steps forward for him to come into view. The large ace and the second setter are with him, and they look so carefree; it makes Ikejiri’s stomach drop.

 

He is about to let them pass too, when his own feet get into motion, and suddenly he is getting up and stepping into the light. He sets his mind to call Sawamura, but as he opens his mouth, the last three members of Karasuno’s team turn around to look at him, alerted by the noise he made standing up. They stare at him, confusion plastered all over their faces, especially Daichi, who seems to be searching for something to say as much as he is. Ikejiri finds that he can’t keep his eyes up, so he looks at his feet, hiding his hands in the pockets of his jumper.

 

“Ikejiri?”

 

He does look up to Sawamura at the call of his name, smiling sheepishly and digging his hands deeper into confinement. Karasuno’s captain is one step closer than when he looked down. His teammates are staring blanking at both of them, sharing disconcerted looks with each other. Ikejiri can’t help but focus on the way the shorter of the two shoots a hand out and presses Sawamura’s arm, asking a silent question. There’s something struggling in the length of Ikejiri’s throat, and he feels so inadequate and unwanted that he immediately regrets every single decision that brought him here.

 

“What are you doing here?” Sawamura’s voice is neutral, borderline surprised, but there’s no accusation in it. Ikejiri sighs and looks away for a second before answering.

 

“I…” the words get stuck on his tongue, but he makes himself look back at the three Karasuno students. They are still watching him warily, even as the larger group from before shouts after them, urging them on. “I wanted to talk.”

 

It’s generic, not person specific, even if the ‘with you’ he doesn’t say is implied. But most of all, it’s the truth, and it’s the most he can say without crawling back into the shadows that had comfortably hid him until now.

 

He bites his lip as Sawamura nods to him. A calming yet serious smile graces his lips as he turns to his teammates. He pats the setter on the hand still on his arm, grinning at him and says he’ll catch up with them, apologizing. Suga—Ikejiri catches his name as they talk—just nods back and grabs the other teen by the shoulder, feet rushing away to the school’s exit.

 

Both Ikejiri and Sawamura step forward —one step, just one step towards each other— and stay in silence. Ikejiri is fidgeting with his hands, even inside his pockets, and Sawamura is as still as a rock. He feels that being all on their own, on empty grounds, is even worse than standing under the scrutiny of the other third year’s eyes. He is also sure that behind Daichi’s composed stillness hide doubts and awkwardness. He knows it’s his turn to speak—he did just say that’s what he wanted—, but Sawamura beats him to it again; always one-step ahead.

 

“Do you want to sit?” Sawamura looks around, at the clearly no bench provided ground, and looks back at Ikejiri. “Or we could walk, if you want.”

 

“Walk is fine,” he mumbles; and feels his knees shake as Sawamura smiles back to him, in what wants to be an ‘ _is ok_ ’ smile. He hates the bastard. He hates that they can still read each other as easily as before. Ikejiri still follows him when he turns around and starts walking slowly, making sure they grow a fair distance from the rest of his teammates.

 

They find a comfortable, easy pace quickly enough, and Ikejiri can’t really tell if the silence that settles between them is comfortable or awkward. He chooses to think of it as something in between; a good definition for everything that ever happened between them. They don’t look at each other. Ikejiri can’t find the courage to speak up, but Sawamura doesn’t put any pressure on him, and his silent presence is something he appreciates deeply. It’s stupid how much he had missed this: the simple act of walking side by side.

 

There’s enough distance between them so they don’t touch as they walk along; enough separation to remind him that it’s been almost three years since they last kept each other company in silence. And yet, it’s not enough to make them strangers yet. That thought calms his hands and his breathing and, for a while, he doesn’t feel the need to say anything at all. It’s not until they reach—without asking or directing the other into the right destination—the bus stop that Ikejiri decides he has to explain himself. As they sit on the bench and he clings with his hands to it with all his strength, he starts to feel he has pushed his luck enough today.

 

“I saw your game,” he exhales weakly, unable to talk to Sawamura face to face and struggling to find the words he wants to say. “It was a great game.” _Wow, Ikejiri, way to start a conversation_ , he mentally curses himself, digging his nails —what’s left of them— into the hard surface of the bench.

 

He waits for a while, but there’s no answer from Sawamura, so he takes a deep breath and turns towards him. The other teen is looking at him, eyebrows knitted, as if his words had been a mystery he couldn’t solve.

 

“Yesterday,” Ikejiri explains, feeling a bit stupid. “Against Seijou?” _Wow, was he always this articulate?_ Sawamura’s face is almost unreadable to him, but his expression seems to soften a bit, even though he seems as much lost in thought as seconds before.

 

“We lost,” he says then, avoiding his eyes, and Ikejiri feels like a jerk. _Of course_ everybody wants to talk about the game they lost no more than twenty four hours ago, _of course_. He’s been dealing with his own disappointment for double the time and he still can’t make himself say it aloud, shit.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—it was awesome, I know it’s not… I know—what I mean… it was a great game.” His voice falls by the end, and Sawamura is back to looking straight at him, face flushed and… ashamed?

 

“We lost,” he says again, but this time it sounds like he is just realizing something, and Ikejiri waits in silence for him to continue. Why is he pushing this topic on Sawamura to begin with? How much egoism can he conjure for this moment? “I’m sorry.”

 

The sudden apology takes him aback. Ikejiri is the one looking puzzled and confused now, until his own words come echoing back to him. _Win, then win some more_. _Oh_ , how stupid he feels. “Oh, no, no Sawamura,” he senses his cheeks blushing, hands reaching his face to hide his embarrassment, unexpected laughter filling his lungs. “I didn’t come for that.”

 

“Why did you?” Ikejiri sighs before taking his hands down from his face and stares at the dark pools of Sawamura’s eyes. There’s not accusation in his tone, just actual curiosity, probably spiked by the way Ikejiri can’t stop smiling at the silliness of the whole situation. “Why did you come?”

 

Ikejiri knows what he is supposed to say: I wanted to tell you it is fine (it’s not); I wanted to tell you how amazing it was (it’s true); I wanted to tell you how great you were ( _seriously_ ). He doesn’t say any of that; no encouraging words and no ‘ _it was the greatest game I’ve been to_.’ Instead, he bubbles out a silly “I missed you,” has a second to think _oh, shit I wasn’t supposed to say that_ , and laughs nervously. “I’m sorry, I’m still an idiot.”

 

Ikejiri puts his hands back in his pockets, and turns to face the road in front of him, unable to contain the creeping blush on his cheeks or to keep looking at his friend —if can he still call him that—in the eye. He feels twelve; he is not sure he ever left his pre-teen phase. Sawamura’s hand on his shoulder startles him from his sudden reverie of shame.

 

“Ikejiri?”

 

“It was good seeing you,” he hears himself say in response. “I kept thinking about you and Junior High since we found out we were playing against Karasuno. And then we were there, and it was _so_ good seeing you, Sawamura”. The confession comes with ease to his mouth, as the sudden insight of what he is doing here flashes to him in a moment of clarity. He doesn’t want to deal with losses alone.

 

“It’s nice seeing you too.” Sawamura puts pressure on his shoulder, and Ikejiri gets the courage to look back at him again. He doesn’t let notice pass of the use of present tense, and smiles more genuinely, less forced, definitely not as nervous as before.

 

“It was a really good game, you know?” If Sawamura is taken aback by the return to that damn subject, he doesn’t show one bit of it. He is calm and composed and he is listening carefully to Ikejiri. “It’s a wonder I still have my voice.” That prompts a reaction: eyebrows quirking up and smile toggling on the corners of Sawamura’s lips. “Next time I’d rather not have an almost heart attack, though.”

 

Sawamura Daichi laughs at that, open and easy; the shaking of his body translating through the hand on Ikejiri’s shoulder to his own, filling him with ease.

 

“We’ll make sure of that,” Sawamura says when he stops laughing, and Ikejiri feels his face hurt as his grin grows wider. “I missed you too, Ikejiri,” Sawamura let’s go of his shoulder and bumps the side of his body with his. It’s playful, normal, and they might be fifteen again, saying goodbye one last time. Ikejiri doesn’t want to say goodbye this time.

 

“You’re going to keep playing then?” Ikejiri hates himself from diverting the topic of conversation — _I missed you so much, Daichi_ , is what he should have said. And yet, he does wonder about the way Sawamura’s refers to himself as part of the team, still, even with university looming in the horizon. He hadn’t thought it might have been a possibility for them to keep on playing.

 

“Yeah. They kind of convinced me to do so, not that I wanted to leave it to begin with.” Sawamura shrugs it off, warm eyes and gentle smile on his face. “You?”

 

“There’s no point,” the words he heard from his underclassman sound foreign, and yet accurate on his tongue. They have a different edge when he says them, though. It’s not resignation or disappointment; it’s not even sadness, it’s just a fact he can’t fight against. Not now, not where he is right now, and definitely not here, with Daichi, whom he can’t lie to, never could. “And don’t give me one of your speeches, I know them by heart.” He shakes his head as Sawamura— _damn, Daichi_ — is about to speak, and keeps on talking. “It’s not like that. Things are different for me. Maybe I should have followed you here, maybe then it _would_ be different.”

 

 _This is why he is here_ , he thinks for a bit, eyes studying every inch of Daichi’s expression. The way his eyes soften, even if he remains as serious as the topic. And the way he seems to chew at the information over his own lips, as if he had spoken the words himself. He is here because talking to Daichi, while blushed and ashamed and somehow tripping all over his own words and thoughts, comes natural. To share, to think aloud, is something they used to do so much, and _oh, how he misses it_.

 

“Nobody showed up to practice today,” he explains, looking far into the darkness of the night that has closed around them. “I was jealous when I got here,” he admits, face down, fingers fidgeting on his pockets, “you were all back there today, and there were only two of us back at home. It felt like when we lost in Junior High —but this time _I_ cared.”

 

“Ikejiri—“

 

He shakes his head again, with force, and Daichi stops on his tracks, maybe still wondering about what to say.

 

“I’m sorry; I shouldn’t be bothering you with this. I’m glad that at least we got to play each other once.”

 

“Ikejiri…” Daichi looks for his eyes, and Ikejiri stares at him lifting his face up. Words don’t come out of Daichi’s lips for a while, as if he can’t quite pick the right words and put them in the correct order. He sees him close his eyes, a contained sigh flowing out of his chest. Daichi turns back to him with a smile, reconsidering his thoughts. “I’m glad we did.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I should have gone on the last one.”

 

He guesses it’s been around an hour since the last bus disappeared at the end of the road. He takes his ringing phone out of his pocket, the screen flashing a bright ‘ _Mom_.’ He smiles apologetically to Daichi as he takes the phone to his face, the voice of his mother urgently asking his whereabouts and if he is ok and if she shouldn’t call the police at all, because she swears she will if he doesn’t start talking soon. As he listens, he sees Daichi reach for his own phone, rapidly typing a message; he looks away before answering his own mother.

 

“I’m _fine_ , mom” he says dragging out his voice, and looking ahead into deep night. She still uses the same voice with him that she did when he was ten or five and, probably, when he was a one-year-old, but he can’t remember that so he can’t prove it. It’s just as probable as the fact that she’ll keep on using it until he is her present age and he is the one taking care of her.

 

“Then why aren’t you home?” She scoffs through the phone, and Ikejiri sighs, trying to figure out how to explain how far he is and that it’s ok, he’ll be home. If he finds a way back, as it does seem he missed the last bus.

 

“I’m fine.” Repetition won’t lead him anywhere, so he continues before she has time to speak up again. “I’m with a friend.”

 

That prompts silence from the other side of the line; Ikejiri uses the break to glance back at Daichi, still carefully typing, probably in conversation with someone, but he respects him too much to pry.

 

“Are you with a girl, Hayato-kun?”

 

“Oh, god, _moooom_.” He blushes. It’s the most stupid thing, because, he is not with a girl, Daichi can’t hear what his mother is saying and, seriously, why should he ( _still_ ) blush at this? Maybe it’s the excited teasing tone his mother uses, or the way it suggests things he shouldn’t be thinking about when talking to the woman that gave birth to him. But he feels his cheeks burn and he looks away from Daichi, hoping he will not notice the blood on his face. “No, I’m with a friend…” —there’s a subtle _tsk_ of disappointment on the other side, but it doesn’t stop him from following on his phrase— “…from volleyball.”

 

 _Technically_ , it’s not a lie. Yet, he does feel the weight of Daichi’s eyes on him.

 

“You spend too much time with balls in your head, Hayato-kun,” he contains a groan, hides his face in his hands and keeps on listening to her. “I thought we talked about this, weren’t you leaving the club after…”

 

He is thankful for the way she trails off, as if realizing she’s walking on moving sand and he holds back the need to say _Yeah, mom, it’s way too soon_.

 

“I know. We lost track of time talking, I’m sorry.” That’s not a lie either, and given the sudden change in her persistence, he guesses she’ll think it’s about the loss.

 

 _Technically_ , it was about the loss, his and Daichi’s, in between other random things that followed.

 

“It’s alright, love. Just make sure you get back safe, it’s really late. Are you at your friend’s house? Why don’t you ask if you can stay over? Or I’ll send dad to pick you up. I’m not comfortable with you walking back on your own at this hour.”

 

“Alright,” he nods to no one in particular, as his mother can’t actually see him. As he straightens back up, his eyes find Daichi, half smiling and eyes full of patience directed towards him. He mutters a soft ‘ _mothers_ ’ under his breath, as far as he can from the microphone of the phone. Daichi smile brightens, almost laughing, before nodding himself. “I’ll let you know?”

 

He doesn’t think he can ask Daichi to stay at his home; _god_ , he doesn’t even have the guts to suggest it. Besides, he doesn’t want to put him in a position where he feels he can’t say no, no matter how uncomfortable he might feel with the idea. To be honest, Ikejiri himself isn’t sure he is alright with it himself. Maybe he can call someone from school and ask to stay there, although he isn’t sure how he’d get to their house to begin with. He keeps managing possibilities, other than explaining to his mother why he is this far from home, other than telling her in the first place he is not as close as she thinks he is.

 

“ _Fineee_ ,” this time his mother is the one to drag the words out, and he can’t help the smile that plays on his lips, fully aware of where he picked the habit up. She sighs then. “Be careful, Hayato.”

 

“I will.”

 

He puts the phone back in his pocket, feeling incredible shy and contained, and his mind pondering how he is going to get out of the mess he got himself into. For all his mother worries, he is lucky she trusts him so much and can, at least, try to find a way out of this. It’s not as if he has a tendency to drive miles away every day or anything.

 

Daichi brings his attention back by punching lightly on his upper arm.

 

“Everything alright?” he asks, inclining forward to search his hidden face and look him in the eyes.

 

“Yes. Yes. Sorry. She’s just worried. It’s late.”

 

Daichi nods, frowning and playing with the phone still in his hands. Ikejiri can tell he is considering what he is about to say, so he waits. He pays notice to the way the end of Daichi’s eyes form crinkles on his skin, and how small his pupils become as he squints at nothing in particular.

 

“You could stay at mines, if you want.” Daichi avoids his eyes as he offers his home to stay, and Ikejiri finds himself biting his lip hard. “I don’t think there are more buses coming tonight.”

 

Ikejiri doesn’t think so either, but the offer still takes him by surprise. In perspective, it is the best choice. He is staying somewhere safe, they can walk there together, he can go straight back to classes tomorrow morning, and he won’t have to explain anything that he doesn’t feel like to his mother (who would probably be ok with him staying at Daichi’s—it wouldn’t be the first time—if she knew anyway). But most of all, he isn’t ready to say goodbye to Daichi again just yet. So, really, he should be begging Daichi for this and not the other way around, butdeep inside he knows he shouldn’t. Especially with the way Daichi smiles at him, reassuringly, and a bit nervous himself.

 

“I already asked mother, she says it’s fine. Actually, her actual words were…” Daichi picks up his phone, and scrolls through his contacts and messages before setting up on one and reading aloud. “’I can’t wait to see him again. Tell him I’ll get offended if he doesn’t come.’ Mother always loved you.”

 

“I don’t think I should.” He voices his thoughts aloud, clasping his hands on his knees, while trying to keep his eyes on Daichi. He scans the way his face saddens at his rejection and then lights up again, without context.

 

“So, we’re staying the night at the bus stop? It’s going to get a bit chilly.” He jokes laughing, and Ikejiri can’t help the blush on his cheeks from reappearing. “Seriously, Ikejiri, do you have a better plan?”

 

He shakes his head, because, really, he doesn’t and his resolve to refuse Daichi’s offers wavers in his belly as the other boy keeps smiling and punching his arm playfully.

 

“We can stay up and play or talk or whatever; like we used to.”

 

“It’s a school night, Sawamura.” This time, Ikejiri hits Daichi’s shoulder without much force, just as his scoff lacks any meaning to it.

 

“When did that stop us?”

 

He is blushing badly, so he begs the lack of proper illumination on the streets is enough to cover up for him. Yet, he can’t stop smiling back at Daichi. At the way they go back into patterns, easy words, and— _what were they even talking about when his mother called_? It was something meaningless and idiotic, and definitely not worth an hour-long trip.

 

“Are we staying here then?” Repetition will lead Daichi somewhere, as Ikejiri feels himself shivering at his use of ‘we’ all over again. “Everybody is probably asleep at home by now anyway, but mom said there’s some food still in the fridge. And the futon must already be in my bedroom.”

 

Daichi stands up, not waiting for his reply. He is still leading the way with them as he did before, and as he surely must do it now as captain of his own team. It comes so natural to him that Ikejiri feels a little bit envious and a bit more intimidated. But then there’s a hand in front of him to ‘help’ him up from his seating position, even if he clearly doesn’t need it to stand up himself.

 

Daichi tilts his head a bit, hand stretched ahead. Ikejiri swallows before reaching with his own hand and letting Daichi pull him up. Their hands remain on each other’s for a few seconds that feel like an eternity. But when Ikejiri is about to let go, Daichi yanks at their entwined hands and starts walking, dragging him along. He is not about to start complaining, because once Sawamura has set his mind to something, there’s no stopping him. So he tries to keep pace, and level up to him.

 

When he finally matches his strides and gets to walk by his side, their hands lose the strength of their grip and fall apart at their sides. As they keep walking towards Daichi’s house —a walk Ikejiri remembers more than he should—the backs of their hands brush and neither of them make an attempt to move them away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stepping into Daichi’s house is like moving back in time. They leave their shoes at the entrance, and Ikejiri follows Daichi into the kitchen, even though he knows his way around like the back of his hand. Daichi gets some food out of the fridge, and puts it in the microwave to warm it up. Ikejiri takes the chance to look around. Everything appears the same, to the point of weirdness. Of course, he can’t recall the little details of decorative pieces, or souvenirs, and maybe there are a few new photos that weren’t there before. One photograph of Daichi and his fellow third year teammates stands out to him. But judging by the rest, it’s like time hasn’t gone by inside these walls. He can feel himself getting comfortable in the familiar setting.

 

He leans on the counter and watches as Daichi prepares everything around the kitchen; he’s settling the warmed up yakisoba on bread, to make sandwiches, and grabs a pair of glasses and a water bottle. It’s nothing odd to Ikejiri, seeing him move around the place with ease, but Daichi looks so different than he did before that Ikejiri finds himself enthralled by his movements. He looks bigger in the little kitchen and less awkward in his actions than he remembers. When Daichi finally looks back at him, Ikejiri has the decency of looking away, caught in the act of staring. Sawamura either doesn’t notice or prefers to say nothing of it.

 

“Living room or bedroom?” he asks instead, the plate with food in one hand and water bottle in the other. Ikejiri rushes himself to grab the pair of empty glasses, in urgent need to occupy his hands with something, as he ponders his reply.

 

“Are we sleeping?” _Smooth, Hayato, very smooth_.

 

“Living room then.” Daichi nods to himself before going out of the kitchen into the living room, Ikejiri stepping just behind. “Everybody is asleep upstairs”.

 

They settle themselves on the main couch, each on opposite sides. Daichi brings the short table closer and puts their dinner on it. He feels thirteen again, going to his first sleepover with Sawamura and Michimiya. Only then, the three of them could fit on the couch that they are both occupying now. He raises his feet up, putting them under his legs, just like that first time. And Daichi hands him his plate with his yakisoba-pan.

 

“Sawamura-san’s still the best at this,” he swallows his first bite down, and Daichi smiles to him, mouth full. Ikejiri is sure he can see a blush creeping up his neck in the dim light of the living room. “She made it for us —Michimiya and I— the first time we came. My mother almost didn’t talk to me for a week because I wouldn’t have hers, ‘cause they weren’t as good.”

 

He feels himself babbling, and goes for another bite to shut his mouth. It’s not like it’s anything special, but maybe he is feeling too nostalgic already and the Sawamura home and yakisoba-pan are tightly intertwined in his mind.

 

“I made this” Daichi blurts out, almost an inaudible whisper, and Ikejiri looks at him in shock. “I made it the other night, it was late and I thought I was hungry— guess the nerves didn’t let me eat it after all.” Daichi explains, as he takes a hand to the back of his neck, definitely and absolutely blushed. “I’m sorry it’s not fresh.”

 

“You made this?” Daichi nod is so small he almost misses it, and Ikejiri feels like laughing at how insecure Sawamura looks at his scrutiny. “Is there something you aren’t good at, Sawamura?” He bits down again, because he means it; it’s completely delicious and it doesn’t taste old at all. It tastes just like he remembers Sawamura-san’s did.

 

“It’s just yakisoba, Ikejiri, I didn’t invent anything, and it’s mother’s recipe, of course.”

 

“Figured. Still amazing.”

 

He nudges Daichi’s leg with his knee, a playful smile on his face, and feels delighted when Daichi looks away, embarrassed. It’s easy feeling comfortable with him. It’s not the first time the thought crosses his mind that night. But it’s the resemblance of other nights that makes this moment in particular stand out; studying ‘till late, discussing volleyball while one sat on the floor and the other on the couch, or sometimes even playing it in the backyard. Michimiya included. It was always easy around them. He is not sure if they ever got to call themselves best friends, but it surely felt like they were back then.

 

They eat in silence for a while, both lost in thought. Sawamura uses his phone sometimes, messaging back and forward. With whom, he doesn’t tell, but Ikejiri assumes it must be one of his friends from the team. It doesn’t change the atmosphere at all. All regrets and feelings on the matches from the days before seem to be a forgotten topic or, at least, an easier subject to surf through. It’s nice to find himself in Daichi’s company, even if they aren’t sharing any words at all.

 

By the time they finish their sandwiches, Daichi puts his phone on the table and ignores it when it vibrates again. Turning to face Ikejiri, he pulls his legs up to his chest, in the space between them on the couch.

 

“Do you think you’ll play at university?” Daichi looks at him with a sad smile on his face, hands knotted together over his legs. Ikejiri leans towards the table to put down his plate, before adjusting himself back on the couch. He is facing Daichi, with his feet still under his legs, even if they are falling asleep from his own weight.

 

“I doubt it. I was never very good.” He shrugs, and Daichi opens his mouth a few times, obviously intending to reprimand him and tell him he is wrong. He appreciates that he doesn’t lie to him, but he decides to continue, to relieve the pressure he might feel to do so. “Not like you, anyway.”

 

“Lies,” Daichi finally manages to say, but there’s no truth behind his statement. It’s all playful and nice. Ikejiri feels himself warm up. In a way, it’s Sawamura’s means of accepting his compliment without turning into a mess of redness and awkward movements.

 

“You?”

 

“I’ll have to get there first,” he says matter-of-factly. Ikejiri waits for him to continue, as his eyes set on his own hands, wondering if they’ll have the answers he is looking for. “I haven’t told my parents I’m staying until the spring tournament. It was kind of… a decision I made today.”

 

“And you think you won’t be able to do both.” It’s not a question, and the corners of Daichi lips curve slightly up, caught in fault. “That’s stupid.” Ikejiri bites his lip and hides his hands in his pockets again, as if that will drive away the dumb struck face Daichi is making at him. But he knows it won’t, so he breathes; and _damn, it’s Sawamura_ , he doesn’t need to feel so uncomfortable about everything. “For all your incredible speeches when we were kids, and all your amazing out-of-inspirational-cards phrases, you’re full of bullshit.”

 

He feels the urge to hide his face in his hands, but wills himself to maintain his composure. Nothing prepares him from Daichi deep and loud laughter. It doesn’t take long for it to subdue to an incredible amount of shorts laughs he tries to keep under control behind his hands. Ikejiri glances back towards the stairs, scared they’ll wake everyone inside the house.

 

“You’re probably right.”

 

“I am?” He wishes he didn’t sound so unsure about it. Especially because Daichi looks pretty convinced himself.

 

“I _do_ make pretty grandiloquent speeches though, don’t I?” The teasing in his voice is light in context and Ikejiri just nods as a reply. He can’t admit he basically still knows them all by heart. “Playing volleyball in university… it’d be a blast. Probably very exhausting, though.”

 

“Have you ever thought about going pro?” Ikejiri knows they had this conversation before, but thirteen-years-olds know little to nothing about anything. Although, surely, they still don’t know much more. He removes his feet from under his body, mimicking Daichi’s position, and the couch turns out to be smaller for them than it used to be. Somehow, he ends with one leg between Sawarmura’s, and the other sliding down to the floor. It should be weird, he thinks, but Daichi is too lost in thought to even notice his hesitation.

 

“One goal at a time, for now.”

 

“Seems reasonable.”

 

The conversation drifts off easily to silly things, like ‘ _I’m sure this couch shrank, you know_?’ and ‘ _you just got bigger_ ’ and ‘ _you should really stop saying that, Ikejiri_ ’ and a series of actual giggles, because laughing isn’t childish enough anymore.

 

 

 

 

 

When Ikejiri can’t contain his yawns anymore and hides the last very-long-lasting one behind his hands, Daichi finally suggests they go to bed. He wants to decline, but he yawns again, and Daichi places a hand on one of his knees as he sits straight on the couch again. Ikejiri laments the loss of contact that had settled between their legs as much as he relinquishes in Daichi’s fingers on his skin.

 

“We should probably head to bed, sleepyhead,” Daichi winks at him. He presses his hand on his knee before standing up and grabbing their empty plates and glasses to take back into the kitchen. Ikejiri intends to follow. Instead, he turns to the back of the couch and hides a groan on the soft fabric of it.

 

“I thought we were staying up all night, like old times.” He yawns yet again as he enters the kitchen dragging his feet. Daichi smiles at him, understanding, but says nothing as he washes the dishes and leaves everything in its place. It looks as if they had never stepped inside. Ikejiri hates the way his own eyelids weight over his eyes; he doesn’t want to go to sleep yet. What’s worse is that Daichi, who has plenty of reasons to be more tired than him, seems to be as awake as when they first met today. “Tell me the truth, Sawamura, did I get old?” He jokes, as Daichi dries his hands.

 

“Yes, you’re grandpa material, Ikejiri.” Daichi laughs at him, hands scrubbing his own eyes. _Oh, he is tired too_ , Ikejiri thinks, recognizing the way Sawamura fights his own sleepiness. He feels a tiny bit bad for keeping him up. Sawamura would always pretend to have unstoppable life force when they were younger. Habits die hard, he guesses. “So, let’s go upstairs before I have to carry you up.”

 

Another yawn helps him hide the blush in his cheeks, as he follows Daichi through the house, up into his room. Entering Daichi’s bedroom has the same effect as entering the house for the first time again. Time has created a lapse inside: same bed, same desktop, probably the same blankets if he is not wrong and, definitely the same futon. It’s like going back in time. There’s an old volleyball in one of the corners of the room, some books and figurines from their childhood on some shelves above the desk, a very old computer he remembers using in Junior High, and a bit of a mess of clothes everywhere. Daichi apologizes about those, but Ikejiri just shrugs —there’s nothing new about it.

 

He stands in the doorway for a while, wondering how much bigger he is now than he was the first time he entered this place. How much has changed since then, even if the surroundings remain the same. Daichi doesn’t wait for him, he sits on his bed, feet to the floor and back arching back to rest. He pushes his arms upward as he puts his hands back into his eyes to rub at them.

 

“I wasn’t expecting company,” he yawns, and Ikejiri can’t help the smile that spreads into his face. He walks inside and kneels on the futon facing Daichi. “I should give you some clothes for the night, right?”

 

Daichi levers himself up on his elbows, glancing towards him with a mighty grin, there’s no trace of sleepiness in his eyes. He pushes himself up and walks towards the wardrobe. He takes out some shorts and a shirt, and throws them towards Ikejiri.

 

“You know the way to the bathroom, don’t you?” he says, without turning around, and Ikejiri nods, getting himself back on his feet. “There’s a spare toothbrush in the first drawer, I think, if you need one.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Ikejiri leaves the bedroom in silence; tiptoeing towards the bathroom door in the dim light coming out of Daichi’s bedroom. Once he gets there, he brushes his teeth with the spare toothbrush he finds in the first drawer and changes into the t-shirt Daichi gave him. He stares at the mirror for a bit. The clothes are big on him, so he tightens the chord on the shorts, begging for them not to fall down. He can’t help but hide his nose under the collar of the t-shirt and inhale Daichi’s scent. _Oh, he was doomed the moment he stepped inside the house_.

 

He drags himself back to the bedroom, playing with the soft fabric of the t-shirt in his hands, rolling it up a bit. Daichi is sitting on the edge of his bed, already changed into his own pajamas, and he quirks an eyebrow at him when he sees him.

 

“Did you shrink, Ikejiri?” Daichi is unabashedly looking him up and down, and Ikejiri would rather be six feet under. “I’m pretty sure my clothes used to fit you better.”

 

“You got bigger, Sawamura.” He states bemused, because, they have already settled the matter of who outgrew who, heights apart. He shrugs, because Daichi is still smiling, maybe even smirking, at him as he gets up, and passes him, going towards the bathroom. He feels odd, alone in this bedroom he hasn’t been to in years, in clothes that aren’t his own, and with Daichi’s scent all over the place.

 

He lowers himself on the futon on the floor, back resting on the side of the bed, and legs stretched on the length of the floor. He lets his head fall back to the mattress, eyes staring without thought at the empty ceiling. The clock on the bedside table marks ten past three, and fuck it’s late and he is exhausted, but he is too nervous to sleep anyway. He does close his eyes in the end, drifting into a half sleep stupor. He opens his eyes when he feels Daichi’s weight on the mattress, returning from the bathroom, settling himself back in bed.

 

Sawamura’s legs fall at his side, his thigh too close to Ikejiri’s face, who makes himself look the other way. The other boy is restless for a bit. Daichi puts his legs up and down, and then lets himself plop backwards, making Ikejiri’s head bounce in the process.

 

“I’m really glad you’re here.” Daichi’s confession startles him, even if Ikejiri has been nothing but excruciatingly aware of every movement and sound coming from him. His voice catches on his throat, and he digs his hands on the futon with force. Silence falls between them for a while, until Sawamura speaks up again. “I missed this.”

 

“This?” he ventures, because ‘ _this’_ could mean so many things. And right now, Ikejiri needs him to be as specific as possible or he is going to break down. He feels the urge to bite his nails, _and shit_ , that’s a habit he didn’t need to pick up; it all comes back to Sawamura somehow. He waits, his eyes fully open, and breathing painfully slow.

 

“Yeah.”

 

 _Oh, he hates him_. He hates him with passion; he definitely didn’t miss Sawamura’s incapability to explain himself, other than for big volleyball speeches. Ikejiri always lacked the courage and the understanding, and he could use some help here. His heart is beating faster than it should in such a quiet environment. But trust Sawamura Daichi to be as cryptic as possible about, well, _them_ , if he can still think of themselves as a pair.

 

“You are the worst, Sawamura Daichi.”

 

He feels, rather than sees, as Daichi props himself on his elbows, a mirror image of his position when they got to the bedroom. He can picture him searching Ikejiri’s face for some sort of explanation at the sudden sentence of judgment. Ikejiri closes his eyes, hiding behind the darkness of his eyelids. He bits his lower lip with force, takes a deep breath, and goes for it.

 

“I liked you.” It’s just about a whisper; maybe Daichi didn’t hear it. He almost hopes he didn’t. His cheeks are flushing red, judging by the heat he feels in them, and his hands won’t stay still on the hem of his shirt. “I really liked you,” he confesses again, a bit louder this time. It remains a slight fracture in the silence, not a loud proclamation or shouting at the top of his lungs. It’s soft and timid, much like him. It takes all his guts not to bend forward and hide between the blankets that Daichi left for him.

 

There’s a beat of stillness, awkward and long, and filled with dread. In the end, he did talk in past tense; he could brush it off with a laugh. He does feel like giggling from embarrassment anyway. He is about to say ‘ _just forget it_ ’ when he feels a hand on his face. When he opens his eyes, the ceiling is gone and Daichi is lingering above him, hand tracing his right cheek with slow movements.

 

“You liked me,” he echoes, and Ikejiri could swear he can breathe Sawamura’s words in the almost nonexistent space between them. He nods, because he can’t find words to say. “You _liked_ me,” Daichi repeats, emphasizing and playing with the smile on his lips. “Does that mean you don’t anymore?”

 

The bastard is teasing him; he has enough brain still working to figure that out. And _oh_ , how he wishes he could say ‘ _no, I don’t_ ,’ because it’d make everything easier. He was meant to be over this…infatuation, or whatever this was—is. But it took him a couple days, a lot of tears, and a few hours of honest conversation to find himself back on it.

 

“I was over you,” he does somehow manage to state, as his train of thoughts gets lost on Daichi’s aroma and Daichi’s closeness and Daichi’s hand gradually tracing over his nose, to his other cheek. He wants to hate him so much.

 

“I missed _you_.”

 

He’s almost incapable of hearing Sawamura when he speaks up, as the other boy leans forward and connects their lips. It’s uncomfortable, as they are facing opposite ways, and he feels Daichi’s nose on his chin. It’s no more than a quick peck, even if they stay on each other’s lips for a bit. Daichi is cradling his face with his hand, trapping him between his lips and the force of his fingers. When Daichi breaks away, Ikejiri licks his lips, trying to grasp reality of what just happened. He can still feel the rough ghost of Daichi’s lips all over his mouth.

 

He doesn’t have much time to consider anything, because Daichi is sliding down the bed to his side. Ikejiri lifts his face, so they are finally staring at each other, at eye level, in the same position. There’s a spark in Sawamura’s eyes as he smiles at him.

 

“I wanted to do that a long time ago,” he confesses, hand rubbing his neck with embarrassment. A long time ago must mean ‘ _more than two years ago_ ’ because they haven’t seen each other for that long. The realization strikes Ikejiri silent. Sawamura looks away at his reaction, evidently misinterpreting it, before speaking up again. “Did I get it wrong?”

 

He doesn’t know what comes over him. It might be all the over thinking he’s been doing. Or the fact that he hasn’t rested much in the past two days, and his emotions are unusually raw on his skin. Next thing he knows, he is passing one of his legs over Daichi’s, and sitting on his lap. His hands grip on Daichi’s t-shirt and he finds himself pulling Sawamura towards him. Their mouths collide and they wince from the force, teeth clashing together and breaking them apart. Ikejiri thinks he tastes a bit of blood when he passes is tongue over his lip, with his forehead pressed to Daichi’s. He laughs, no, he _giggles,_ and he wants to hide himself in the crook of his neck. But Daichi’s hands find their way up to his cheeks again and he shuts him up by pulling their lips together again.

 

This time, it’s slow, and Daichi makes sure neither of them gets hurt. It starts with a little peck, but soon enough they are aching for more. Ikejiri feels himself tighten his grip on Daichi’s clothes, while Sawamura angles his face so they can manage not to bump noses or put teeth on teeth again. Ikejiri is the one to bite Daichi’s lower lip, asking for entrance. The soft sound that comes out of Daichi’s throat makes his body react. He levers his hips up, kissing Daichi from farther up, and lets his tongue dart into the other boy’s mouth.

 

He has no time to think while they are like this: mouths tangled together, in a mix of saliva, that in description, he would find gross. Daichi’s hands keep bringing his face down every time Ikejiri drifts a little away to adjust himself. He has no time to think when his own hands find their way to Daichi’s neck in the middle of the chaos that is their mouths. He definitely can’t think, too lost in the exhilarating feeling of the unconscious movements of their bodies pressed together.

 

He has no time to think when they finally break apart to breathe. The shagged rhythm of their panting is all that can be heard in the bedroom. They breathe into each other with their foreheads bumped together and noses just about touching. Ikejiri can’t stop smiling. He makes himself open his eyes to stare at Daichi: mouth half open, lips turned up and eyes closed. There are both trying to catch up with reality, but neither of them want to. Ikejiri definitely wishes they hadn’t stopped, but somehow knows he needs to get away now, or he won’t move otherwise. And they really, really, should almost certainly stop.

 

He lets himself go backward, sitting on Daichi’s extended legs, and feels Daichi’s fingers trail off his face as he does so.

 

“Uhm.” He manages to say nothing at all, even when he is trying to. Daichi finally opens his eyes, his hands still lingering on Ikejiri’s knees, where they dropped from his face. His breathing caught up on his throat.

 

“ _Uhm_ , indeed” Sawamura laughs, coughing a tad without force.

 

They stay like that for what seems like an eternity. Ikejiri does get enough time to think about what just happened, but his mind won’t decide where to start. He does wonder, however, how they got here. How his random impulse to talk, to just vent out his frustrations —his volleyball frustrations for that matter— had somehow ended up on this —another frustration altogether. He can’t find the answer. Since their encounter two days ago, up until this moment, back in Sawamura’s home, he found it easy to forget how much they had drifted apart. The time bubble of this bedroom doesn’t help, and he does feel fifteen again, head over heels for his best friend.

 

Somehow, he gets himself to untangle his legs from Daichi’s and goes back to sitting by his side. Daichi traces his movements with one of his hands, finally passing his arms around his shoulders. Ikejiri can’t help but let a yawn die on Daichi’s shirt. He lets his head rest again him, hearing only the pounding of Sawamura’s heart in the silence of the household.

 

“You know,” Daichi breaks the quiet once again, and Ikejiri could swear he can feel him smile, as he tightens his hold on his body, “I always wanted to find out what your freckles tasted like.”

 

Ikejiri chuckles against Daichi’s body, because that’s the cheesiest and yet the most Sawamura thing to say.

 

“Promise?”

 

“You got it.”

 

 

 

 

 

 ** Interhigh.  ** The day after **.**

He wakes up disoriented, with his body angled all wrong and aching. He doesn’t open his eyes, just tries to find himself a more comfortable position and only makes it worse. As consciousness starts to drip into his mind, he starts feeling the differences of the surfaces he is laying on; particularly the soft warmth under his upper body and the slight burning touch on one of his knees. He keeps his eyes closed as he breathes the scent of Daichi, everywhere around him. It smells of sweat and talcum powder. He can’t tell without looking how the hell they got tangled. But everything hurts. And on top of it all, his mind is suggesting him he should relive every single little thing from yesterday in his slumber wake.

 

He finally manages to unglue his eyelids and glance around to gather an idea of their situation. They must have fallen asleep sitting there on the futon. His head, which had been resting on Daichi’s shoulder, must have slipped down until all his upper body was on Daichi’s lap. His hand had fallen down from his thigh onto the futon, in a weird angle that will leave him sore for the whole day. Sawamura had somehow slid on top of him, his cheek nested on his knee, and his arm had found its way between Ikejiri’s legs. He feels the blush creeping into his face as his mind makes sense of the positions of their limbs.

 

Daichi is definitely still asleep, and Ikejiri finds himself hiding his head in the soft rising up and down of his ribs. He is awfully uncomfortable, but he doesn’t want to move. His left arm, contorted in a weird angle between him and Daichi, is numb, and he tries to move it as slow as he can, only to rest it by Daichi’s hip. He moves his fingers back to life, still unable to find a comfortable way to just be still. He curses under his breath, shifting a bit, somehow getting closer to Daichi. Daichi’s sleeping body follows suit, adjusting against him, and draping a hand across his face, resting it on his back. Ikejiri is trapped.

 

It’s not like he minds.

 

As he settles into a new _I-really-should-move-now-I’m-too-awake-for-this_ mindset, sounds from the first floor of the house start reaching his ears. He notices the sun is shining through the curtains of the bedroom then. _Shit_. It’s definitely not as early as it should be. Probably. Most surely. He can’t tell from where he is laying; his phone is hidden between his clothes and Daichi’s clock is out of his line of vision.

 

He wants to stay like this, but he is probably late for class and maybe someone will come in, and _oh, god_ — he can’t bear the thought of Sawamura-san finding them like this. Whatever this is. He nudges with his right hand at Daichi’s ribs, trying to wake him up, to no avail. He decides to try and untangle himself as well as he can, without improvement. He sighs desperate and asks Daichi to wake up. His voice is coarse from the almost sleepless night and the taste of the other boy still lingering on his tongue. That, luckily, prompts a reaction. He feels Daichi stir around him and yawn into the skin of his leg, his breath prickling on Ikejiri’s knee, making him shudder.

 

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he mocks him when he sees Daichi’s eyes open gradually. He uses the hand he had all over Ikejiri’s face to rub on his eyes. Ikejiri takes the opportunity to prop himself up with his not-so-numb-anymore hand, getting a better view of the boy under-slash-above him.

 

Daichi’s hair is prickling out in all directions, and his expression is the very definition of grogginess. Only disarranged by the tough smile he gives him, once his eyes are able to focus on Ikejiri. It’s not the first time he’s been on the receiving side of this expression, both having spent more than enough times in each other houses to account an alarming number of times it happened. And yet, his chest swells with happiness and anticipation in a way that shouldn’t be allowed. And _oh, he has it bad. He still has it so bad_. His eyes trail to Daichi’s lips. He wants to kiss him so bad, to discover all the little secrets that have kept them apart for so long. He bites his lip as Daichi eyes him curiously, and he winces as he digs into the cut Daichi himself made on his skin last night.

 

Sawamura seems to finally wake up at that, smirking at him. He levers himself without rush from where his face is resting on Ikejiri’s legs. He drags his arm up with him, resting his fingers longer than supposed on Ikejiri’s thigh. Whether he is conscious or not about it, Ikejiri can’t tell. With the sudden lift of pressure on his lower body, Ikejiri straightens his back a bit, stretching his legs. Yet, he makes sure to stay in Daichi’s personal space. They meet somewhere in the middle, facing each other with matching silly smiles and blushing cheeks. Ikejiri can’t keep his eyes from Daichi’s lips, even as they close the distance between them and make contact with incredible softness. It tastes horrible, morning breath all over them, but as they part, they are still smiling and Ikejiri swears his heart skips a beat.

 

“Good morning.” Daichi pulls their foreheads together, chuckling, before finally putting space between them, both scrambling into their feet.

 

Everything aches as they stand up, from his bones and his muscles, to the sudden realization that there’s no more contact between them. He wants to wrap his arms around Daichi and drop his head into his shoulder, and—well, he guesses he definitely was never over him. Daichi excuses himself and goes to the bathroom to take a shower. Ikejiri uses the time to change himself into his school uniform. He needs to get home and bathe himself, but he’s already pushed his luck in this household. He’ll have to feel all sweaty and dirty for the rest of the day. He sits on the edge of the bed as he waits, after rolling up the blankets on his futon and making everything as tidy as possible. Not that it changes the whole aspect of the room by much, but it keeps his hands occupied and his mind busy with something to do.

 

“I thought you’d be in the kitchen already,” Daichi says as he enters the room, towel drying his hair, and a sheepish grin on his lips. He is already wearing his uniform pants, but he hasn’t put a shirt on, and Ikejiri looks away as soon as he finds himself staring.

 

“I…” _I was afraid of you mother? I was afraid my feelings for you would show and make an embarrassment of us both? Or maybe get you in trouble? I didn’t dare_. He says nothing at all.

 

“It’s ok.” Daichi quirks an eyebrow at him, going for the wardrobe, and Ikejiri knows he understands everything he didn’t manage to say aloud.

 

With Daichi’s back towards him, Ikejiri let’s himself take a peak again. He stares at the way the muscles on Daichi’s back tighten around his shoulders and follows with his eyes the soft drops of water that trail down his spine into his black pants. He finds himself licking his lips and turning away ashamed even before Daichi has the chance to spin around, unaffected by his half nakedness, tugging a white shirt over his body.

 

“Mother yelled that breakfast’s ready a bit ago, so we should get going.”

 

Ikejiri nods, because he heard Sawamura-san’s voice when she called for them. He didn’t dare move from where he was sitting then. He gets up now to follow Daichi out of his room and down the stairs. But he feels his stomach drop as Daichi passes him, and out of nowhere he is grabbing his arm and yanking him back to him, possessively claiming his mouth against his own. It’s more desperate than before. Daichi leans into him, pushing him back against the edge of the bed until Ikejiri ends sitting on it. Daichi’s laughter fills the room for a bit, and Ikejiri digs deeper into the shirt where he is holding him still.

 

“We should get going before she comes for us.” Daichi doesn’t move away as he speaks, his hands going for Ikejiri’s, making them lose their grip on the fabric of Daichi’s shirt. Much like a few days ago, they entangle their hands together. Daichi pulls him up in a silence promise of ‘ _later_ ,’ dragging him along to the lower floor.

 

Daichi lets go of his hand before they reach the last three steps and shoots him an apologetic look. Ikejiri nods and follows him into the kitchen. On the side counter, breakfast is already served, and Sawamura-san is cleaning some dishes, her back to them.

 

"Glad you decided to show up. I was about to storm into your room." She scoffs at her son as a way of greeting. She doesn’t turn as they settle themselves at the side of the counter, closer than they are supposed to but not enough to draw suspicion on them. Only then does she turn around towards them. She keeps drying her hands and her eyes dart to Ikejiri. The sight of him brings a smile to her face. “Oh, look at you,” she beams to him, getting closer. She leaves the dishcloth on the marble, before placing both hands to Ikejiri’s cheeks and pulling him to her. She smacks loud kisses on both sides of his face.

 

Ikejiri feels the blush on his cheeks, from both where Sawamura-san’s hands held him and were she kissed him. She looks so excited for a moment, bright smile, dark eyes sparkling, and yet remaining as stoic as ever. It’s not the usual image he has of rural moms, and it makes him shrink in his place.

 

“Sit straight, Hayato-kun,” her firm voice makes his body react, and he glares at Daichi when he hears him snorting at his side. Sawamura-san seems completely unfazed by the mocking of her son and the embarrassment Ikejiri is feeling. She continues talking to him, her hand grabbing the cloth again. “You have grown so much! You are still taller than Daichi, I can see”

 

“ _Thanks_ , mom.” Daichi rolls his eyes, as she smiles to him innocently, the slight frown on her face almost uncatchable.

 

“You are still a very handsome, big man yourself.” She pulls one of his cheeks with her right hand, getting a groan from her son, before turning her attention back to Ikejiri. “It’s good to see you again, Hayato-kun. Although, you should arrange for a non school night for the next visit.” Her face turns serious as she reprimands them both, glancing back and forward between them until they nod. “There’s a bus going your direction in the next half hour, so you should have breakfast and head to school. And make sure you aren’t late, Daichi.”

 

“Yes, mom.”

 

“Yes, Sawamura-san.”

 

They reply in unison, hiding their smiles in nods. Ikejiri catches Daichi’s eyes as they bend, the corner of their lips turning upwards in a silent, shared joke.

 

“Good, now. Breakfast.” She pushes the plates on the counter towards them. But before Ikejiri has time to pick up his fork and start on the food, Sawamura-san walks to his side and plants a kiss on his forehead. “It’s really good to see you again, Hayato-kun. Please come visit us more often.”

 

“Thanks for having me, Sawamura-san,” Hayato bows, sincerely grateful and feeling a bit awkward.

 

“Oh, it’s not problem, dear. You were always such a good friend to my pushy of a son.” He wants to argue that it was always the other way around, but Daichi is actually pouting and groaning a soft ‘ _mom’_ at his other side. He can’t stop himself from sharing a teasingly smile with Sawamura-san. “Leave the dishes on the counter; I’ll take care of them later. I have to go now.” She hugs her son, planting a noisy kiss on his cheek. Hayato finds himself smirking at Daichi’s expression, who, in return, glares back.

 

They remain still for a bit. Sawamura-san puts on her shoes on the entrance and waves them goodbye, reminding them to eat all the food and hurry up to school. “Hayato-kun, do not miss the bus, dear. You are already late,” is the last thing they hear her say. Her departure brings silence to the house, and Ikejiri, mind a bit blank and confused, can’t help but think on how much Daichi resembles his mother. Which is a good thing, since he was never very fond of his father, a much brusquer and less warm man, even if it was obvious how much he loved his son.

 

“Guess we should eat.”

 

Daichi plays with his own hands, not facing Ikejiri for a while, blush still deep in his face. Ikejiri leans a bit, until he can grab Daichi’s hand between one of his own and waits until his friend looks up at him.

 

“You should tell her,” he tries to be as confident as Daichi tends to be. He tries to make him proud with his support, but his voice shakes. Daichi looks at him confused, eyes darting back at where Ikejiri has a hold of him.

 

“About us?” Daichi blurts, and Ikejiri thinks that the blush that now reaches Daichi’s ears must be a mirror of his own.

 

“What? No. I mean about playing in the spring tournament.” He sees Daichi mouthing a silent ‘ _sorry’_ to him for his misunderstanding, and Ikejiri shakes his head because it’s not a big deal. Not now at least. He is not sure what ‘us’ would mean anyway, not yet. “Sawamura-san is a lot like you. Well, you are a lot like her to be precise. She’ll understand.”

 

Daichi’s only response is to nod, and turn his focus to his breakfast, murmuring a soft, almost inaudible “yeah”. Hayato feels he doesn’t have anything more to add, and if he did know what to say, he isn’t sure he’d have the guts. So he retrieves his hand, the sudden loss of warmth tickling on his fingers, and starts breakfast himself.

 

“That said, she will throw a tantrum at you first.” He utters after a while, and that makes Daichi laugh. Breakfast becomes a soft business between them after that and they end up awkwardly tangling their hands together under the counter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Their hands don’t wander together when they step outside the house. Although Daichi is keen to keep him inside, mouths pressed together, one shoe on and one shoe off their feet. Ikejiri wishes that were the case, an empty house and whatever this was between them to play out. But Daichi is going to be late to class and Ikejiri has two hours to decide if he is going to talk about this with his mother or not, and, in fact, how much he is going to tell her. Staying the whole day at Daichi’s would only make everything worst. Or maybe not, he ponders, as they start walking down the path from Daichi’s house. Every single inch between them feels like weighted air.

 

They should speak about this, about them, but Hayato just wants to curl his hand in Daichi’s, and maybe take a little peck at his cheek, and just blush madly as if he was thirteen again. Yet, he keeps his distance, and they talk about random unimportant things. How warm it’s getting, and how the sun prickles slightly on their skin. Or how monotone the view is from the bus Ikejiri has to take now and ‘ _you tell me, I took that bus for three years every day._ ’

 

It’s not bad or uncomfortable. In a way it’s nice, being able to talk silly and just chat and not worry about anything; not volleyball, not them. But at the same time it’s obvious they are avoiding the topic at hand: what they are going to do now. Ikejiri is afraid the answer is going to be a, _well_ , ‘it’s been nice, and I’ll see you again in three years.’ Mostly because everything up until now, especially after the very two crappy days he had, seems to be out of a dream.

 

They walk at least two blocks with Ikejiri building up the courage to bring up the subject, both of them leaning closer to each other, without it being enough. Not enough for anybody else to misinterpret anything. Not enough for them to touch. He keeps answering to Daichi and asking back, and silence never comes between them, but his mind is elsewhere. Hands hiding in his pockets, eyes fixed on Daichi’s face and the outline of his body, wanting to learn everything he might have missed from him. Everything he didn’t even know before.

 

He feels a bit like at the end of their match, sitting back in Sendai’s gymnasium corridors, waiting for something to happen, leaning for support on Sawamura’s hands. But it’s different this time; it’s not about volleyball, it’s not only about himself. So he struggles with the words on his throat, and his hands squirm in confinement.

 

When he finally shoots a hand out to wrap against Daichi’s wrist and stop him for a little while, his friend has already halted. It takes all but a second for Ikejiri to understand what is happening. They have reached a crossroad and they are not alone, and as that thought crawls its way into his head, he lets his hand drop. Daichi turns to him when he notices the pressure gone, eyebrows scrunched a bit and hand heading to the back of his neck. Two pair of eyes fixated on them. Ikejiri recognizes them right away: the other third years in Karasuno’s team. _Well, this is awkward_.

 

“Hi.” Three Karasuno’s students speak up at the same time. The tallest of them tries to look away, and Ikejiri fidgets with his feet on the ground as he takes his hands back to the cover of his pockets. Daichi is still one step ahead of him, and the other guy is still stealing glances between both of them.

 

“Hi.” Ikejiri hardly hears his own voice as he speaks up, but that seems to put everybody on the move. Daichi wears a cute smile on his lips as he turns back to his friends.

 

“You remember Ikejiri?” The two boys nod at Daichi’s question (“Aye”), and they smile at him, a bit disoriented but sincere. “This is Asahi and that’s Suga.” Daichi points to the Ace first and then to the shorter guy, whose smile has grown so much it must hurt.

 

“Nice to meet you” Ikejiri nods fill with dread. _What if they noticed_ , he keeps thinking. But if they did, no one comments on it. As Daichi starts to walk by their side, Ikejiri forces himself to follow. Of course they are all going the same way.

 

“So, you two went to Junior High together?” Suga — _Sugawara_ if Ikejiri remembers correctly— leans his upper body a bit to look at Ikejiri on the opposite side of Sawamura. “Same team?”

 

He seems sincerely curious, not messing with them, or trying to be privy. So Ikejiri nods, making himself smile, in response. “Aye,” comes the strong agreement of Daichi from between them, looking forward, and not paying a glance to either of them.

 

“Was he always this grumpy?” Sugawara pursues, winking at Ikejiri. He can’t help but laugh, especially as Daichi puts an elbow into Sugawara’s ribs without much concern.

 

“Definitely” Ikejiri finds himself teasing, and Daichi finally turns to face him, a betrayed puppy look on his eyes. “Want me to lie next time?”

 

That last line gains him a scoff from Daichi, as he crosses his arm in his chest and looks at the path ahead again. Daichi pretends not to pay attention at the light laugh coming from Sugawara’s lips, the nervous breakdown Asahi almost has on the sideline, and the ghost of a wink and a smirk Ikejiri sends Sugawara’s way. The small chatter and resulting laughs breaks the tension between them. Ikejiri feels forever grateful for Sugawara. Yet, at the same time, he regrets that he most likely lost his chance to talk to Daichi now that they have company.

 

“Are you coming to our Club today?” Sugawara straightens up as Daichi strides a bit ahead, making it easier for Ikejiri and his friend to make eye contact as they follow him.

 

“Oh, no” He feels himself blushing, and fights the urge to hide his face in the back of Daichi’s arm. “Just hoping I’ll catch the bus and I’m not _too_ late to school.”

 

“Bet Sawamura-san pulled a fit at you for staying on school night.” Suga smiles at him with understanding, and Ikejiri side nods to him. “She does that to me every time.”

 

“And we go to the same school, and we’re never late, mind you.” Daichi speaks up, still without turning towards any of them.

 

“Aye, Mr. As Long As I’m Not Late To Volleyball, I Don’t Care.”

 

Ikejiri snorts, and he does sort of hide behind Daichi’s arm this time, without actually getting close enough to touch him.

 

“Suga…” Ikejiri is waiting for the warning tone from Daichi, so when it comes from Asahi, he frowns a bit, until he notices the worried look on his face. Daichi’s voice comes seconds afterwards, anyway.

 

“Don’t worry big guy, I’m not going to take it out on you.” Daichi does stop at that, and the rest of them have to look back at him when they notice, pausing themselves. Daichi is grinning in a very relaxed way, which probably makes Asahi more nervous. Ikejiri notices the boy take a step backward away from Daichi. “Though… I’m already regretting you two meeting.”

 

“Oh, you _love_ us.”

 

Ikejiri shuts his mouth before he can put another foot into it. Neither Sugawara, who is laughing carelessly and murmuring a soft “ _Oh, I like him, Daichi,_ ” while he punches Ikejiri’s arm without force, or Asahi, who must want the whole teasing to end and arrive undamaged to school, seem to notice the look Daichi is sending his way. He has one of his eyebrows slightly drawn upwards and a slight blush is making its way through his cheek. All his body gestures tell how much he is pondering Ikejiri’s choice of words. Ikejiri wants to explain himself, but that would only make it worst. To be fair, he can’t even react to the contact of Sugawara’s hand to his arm, or whatever the other two boys keep saying because he is frozen on the spot.

 

The silence seems to last for ages, even if he knows it’s just the effect of his hands sweating and the change of weight in his feet. Nobody seems phased by it, and, thankfully, Daichi strides forward, and puts a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Come on, you are going to miss your bus.” He smiles at him, squeezing his shoulder, almost caressing him, in a way that’s intended only for him to notice. It’s encouraging and Ikejiri bites his lips as he turns around and starts walking too.

 

The teasing backs off a bit after that, but they do settle into a comfortable chatter. Sugawara is a curious initiator, asking about their shared years and Ikejiri’s high school, as well as his plans. It’s nice, Ikejiri thinks. He isn’t sure he has ever felt this comfortable meeting new people, especially after such an awkward start. But he likes Sugawara, and it’s so easy to understand why Daichi is friends with him. Daichi’s arm bouncing against Ikejiri’s as they walk, far closer than any moment from their path before, keeps him grounded. Daichi’s closeness is a comforting reminder than he is not alone.

 

As they near the corner where their paths divide, Ikejiri finds himself wandering slower. He is dreading to say goodbye. When he thinks they didn’t even get a chance to talk before reaching this point something twists in his abdomen. He doesn’t want to go home yet. He passes one of his hands through his hair, watching the three Karasuno’s guys from behind; their black gakurans on. Suga and Asahi are discussing something about classes he doesn’t pay much attention to. Daichi, on the other hand, seems to finally notice he has trailed behind and slows his pace to match his own.

 

“Alright?” Daichi nudges at his arm with his own, smiling nervously to him and keeping his voice low enough not to be heard.

 

Ikejiri nods, and brushes their fingers discretely. “Dreading the trip back home.” It’s a pretty generic thing to say, it doesn’t need to be linked to them, but Daichi nods back in understanding. He opens his mouth to say something. Ikejiri just wants to stop him there and kiss him until that’s all Daichi can remember from today. He doesn’t, and Daichi doesn’t speak either.

 

They don’t catch up with the other two guys, choosing to stay a bit behind, fingers playing between them at times. As it is, Daichi has to call for them when they arrive at the crossroad for the bus stop.

 

“I’ll catch up,” he says when he gets their attention, and they both nod, not making any comments about it.

 

“It was nice meeting you.” Sugawara steps forward to them, hand upward, and Ikejiri shakes it, embarrassed at the pleased tone on the boy’s voice. “Maybe we’ll see you around?”

 

“Maybe.” Ikejiri doesn’t look at Daichi when he replies, but rather shakes the hand Asahi is offering him too, a feeble smile on his face.

 

“Don’t be late,” Sugawara yells after he turns, and drags Asahi towards the school grounds.

 

“ _Yes, mom,_ ” Daichi mocks him with the exact same tone he uses on his mother. Their laughter fills the air for a bit, as he and Ikejiri watch the other two boys walk away. “Come on, let’s go,” Daichi says after his two friends are far enough. His hand clasps onto Ikejiri’s wrist before dragging him on the direction of the bus stop.

 

Ikejiri thinks he is going to let go once he puts his feet in motion, and yet, Daichi just keeps pressing his digits into Ikejiri’s skin. It will leave a mark but he doesn’t want Daichi to stop. Still, he hurries up. They walk to the bus stop in silence. They sit just as they did the night before without saying a word, brushing legs and arms and leaving no space between them.

 

Ikejiri looks at his hands, trying to find the courage he had gathered before they met Daichi’s teammates. He fails miserably at it. However, he doesn’t seem to need to do so himself, as Daichi’s hand shoots towards his and links their fingers together. Daichi uses his free hand to caress Ikejiri’s cheek. Turning his face towards him, he glances quickly around before placing a sweet peck to his lips.

 

“Give me your phone.” Daichi doesn’t wait for an answer as his hands leave both Ikejiri’s face and hand. He searches inside the pockets of his jacket, ignoring all references to personal space, and wrapping Ikejiri in an unintended hug as he does so.

 

“Yes, sure, go ahead.” Ikejiri can’t help the smile, as Daichi blushes a bit, hand shooting to scrub the back of his head, muttering a soft ‘ _sorry’_ to the air.

 

Still, he keeps the phone in his hand, and only turns it towards Ikejiri for him to unlock it. Once it’s running, Daichi starts to dig around the phone in a rush, pushing on the keys without looking up. Ikejiri gets lost in his expression. He stares at the way Daichi plays with his lips and how his eyes burn intense in concentration as he scans the telephone in his hand. Hayato takes a look down the road, making sure the bus isn’t coming yet.

 

He pokes on his guts until he is able to put one of his hands in Daichi’s thigh. Daichi jumps a bit at the contact, getting distracted, but then, with a chuckle, goes back to his task. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for all this to happen, and Daichi is returning the phone to his pocket.

 

“There. We can stay in touch now.”

 

It’s such a simple statement, but it encompasses so much. Ikejiri feels a little bubbly looking straight into Daichi’s eyes. His belly hurts, and his hands are itching and he wants to kiss him. _Badly_. So he does. He doesn’t look twice to either side; he can’t seem to think clear enough to care. He lunches forward, arms across Daichi’s neck and lips brushing with force to the other boy’s mouth. If Daichi is surprised by his sudden outburst, he covers it up pretty quickly. His strong hands dig into his hips and his tongue asks permission to deepen the contact between them. They break apart breathing heavily, mirror smiles on their lips, full of embarrassment as their hormones take control.

 

“You got it.” Ikejiri says when he catches his breathe, pecking Daichi’s cheek and feeling him tremble at the contact. He guesses it’s becoming a thing between them, quoting each other. But it’s not as if Daichi’s words were ever easy to erase from his head. Daichi laughs at that, hiding his face in the base of Ikejiri’s neck, leaving soft kisses over his clothes.

 

“Don’t make me miss you,” he warns, sternly, putting space between them, but looking immediately for his hand. Both turn to the side as the sound of the bus reaches their ears.

 

“That wouldn’t be fun,” Ikejiri teases without meaning it, and is glad to know Daichi understands so. He clasps their hands tight one last time before letting Ikejiri go.

 

“I’m never letting you near Suga ever again”.

 

There’s a promise in everything they say. _Oh, it will happen_. The thought makes Ikejiri feel light headed, as he raises his hand to stop the bus. His chest feels like it’s about to explode and he can’t even think about the fact that he won’t see Daichi once he gets on the bus. Because this moment, with them smiling at each other, is everything he’s been missing the past two years. He wouldn’t want it any other way.

 

“You should head back, _captain_.” Something passes Daichi’s eyes as he uses the term, and Ikejiri makes a note to himself to use it again when they meet. Heat crawls to his face even if Daichi can’t hear his thoughts. “You’re going to be late.”

 

Ikejiri gets on the bus with those words, and he doesn’t get to hear Daichi’s reply as the doors close behind him. He feels empty immediately, and struggles to pay for his bus ticket without tripping all over his own things. The bus is pretty empty and he finds himself a window seat. But the bus starts moving before he reaches his seat, and he can hardly see Daichi’s silhouette by the time he looks out.

 

He hides his face in his hands, elbows on his legs, as he is incapable to brace them at his chest in the tiny space between seats. He isn’t sure if he wants to cry or scream his lungs out, but he feels overwhelmed by everything. It’s been three crazy days; he has no doubt about that. After years of pinning and avoiding thinking about it, there’s a sense of accomplishment dwelling in his chest.

 

He wishes they had talked more, made things more clear. But then he feels the weight of his phone in his pocket when it starts vibrating and he pushes those thoughts away. Fearing it might be his mother finding out he isn’t in class yet, he digs it out and stares at the screen letting him know of a new message. He opens it without a second thought and laughs out loud. A man on the other side of the bus glares at him but Ikejiri can’t seem to care.

 

 **I called myself so I could have your number, I hope it’s alright** , the message reads. The contact, which Ikejiri has no doubts used to be listed as Sawamura, now appears as a simple Daichi.

 

 **I’m supposed to make you miss me** , he types back, reading it three times before sending it anyway.

**I’m going to kill Suga.**

 

Ikejiri laughs again, this time more fondly and definitely very giggly.

 

 _Oh, he has it bad_.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He walks into the gymnasium before his last class, not caring anymore about today’s assignments or skipping more classes. If he has to make up for the two he missed in the morning, one more won’t make a difference. It’s all empty and silent, and he sits against one of the poles, knees to his chest and phone in his hands. He types a short message to Daichi, **Have a good training, captain** , and puts it into the pocket of his backpack.

 

There’s something calming about the smell of the gym and the memories he made here; even if they were short lived and not as strong as the ones he made in Junior High. He has made friends here, he knows. It doesn’t matter if they didn’t live up to Daichi and Michimiya. And he has sweat, cried and fought on this court.

 

He feels better than he has in weeks. And although he knows — _how couldn’t him_ — that Daichi has a lot to do with it, he is also very aware that there’s something different that belongs only to him. He is not coming back. He is not having second thoughts, but he takes his moment to say goodbye this time around.

 

It won’t be the last time he’ll put his feet on a court, he likes the game that much, but he doesn’t hold any hopes on doing it as a player. It makes him sad, but if the Karasuno vs Seijo match taught him anything, it’s that he can live it as much from the sides.

 

(He doesn’t take his phone out when it vibrates in his backpack. He only reaches for it when he leaves the gymnasium, just before he has the chance to see if anybody will show up. He smiles to himself as he follows the words with his eyes and walks back home alone.

 

 **Yeah. You got it ;D** )

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> COOKIES FOR YOU IF YOU REACHED THIS FAR.
> 
> This was a blast to write and work on, and I'm not sure I have researched so many things or reread a fic so many times. I hope it was worth it :D. 
> 
> As a last note: I can of totally HC daijiri~ as a couple on Junior High, but somehow always end up writing on the "we wanted each other but were too stupid to do anything" world. OHWELL. 
> 
>  
> 
> With any luck I'll be able to write *something* for the rarepairing weekend, but if not, PLEASE WRITE ~~MORE~~ _ANYTHING_ ABOUT THESE TWO. THANK YOU.


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